


And a Hole In Your Door

by spurious



Category: Kanjani8 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Detectives, Film Noir, M/M, community: je_otherworlds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 22:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spurious/pseuds/spurious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Hina knew he was in for trouble the minute Yokoyama Yuu walked through his door.</i> // A film noir-style AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And a Hole In Your Door

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ltgmars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ltgmars/gifts).



> Written for [je_otherworlds](http://je-otherworlds.livejournal.com) and originally posted [here](http://je-otherworlds.livejournal.com/21093.html). More thanks than can ever possibly be expressed to Katie, without whom none of my fics would exist, and all the many people who let me whine at them about this monster!

Hina knew he was in for trouble the minute Yokoyama Yuu walked through his door.

"What do you want?" He asks, leaning back in his chair as smoke coils from the red tip of his cigarette, making the office look a little hazy. Even through the smoke, though, Hina can tell Yoko's nervous and trying to hide it. He's looking around the room with a feigned sort of aloof interest.

"Nice place you've got here." The lightness in his voice is a little strained.

Hina picks up his cigarette case, shaking it to make sure it's not empty, and holds it out to Yoko.

"Sit down, have a smoke, and tell me what you want."

Yoko wavers for a second. "I'm trying to quit," he says, but he's already reaching for the case. Hina flips open his lighter, flame flickering to life.

"So am I," he says, trying some humor to lighten the mood. He's not going to show it, but seeing Yoko unsettled like this is getting to him a little.

Yoko takes a long drag on the cigarette, eyes closing in a moment of bliss. The chair in front of Hina's desk creaks as Yoko sits down in it, loosening his tie.

"It's kind of a long story," Yoko says, flicking the cigarette absently.

Hina reaches for the bottle of whiskey in his desk drawer. "I figured."

There are two empty glasses on a corner of the desk, and Hina fills them both.

"I hate this stuff," Yoko says, making a face, but he drinks it anyway.

"So," Hina says.

"So," Yoko echoes. He takes another drag, cigarette burning ever closer to his fingers. "I'm...in a bit of trouble."

"I'd figured that much out."

"And that's why you're the best detective in the city." Yoko smirks.

"Flattery's not going to get you anywhere. Get on with it."

"Fine, fine. Some of my...colleagues have gotten it into their heads that I let slip some information to the police. There've been a couple of big busts recently, you know, people get nervous." Yoko stubs out his cigarette, takes a sip of whiskey. "Now obviously I'm not responsible for any of it; I'd have just as much to lose if I went to the cops, but I can't seem to make anyone believe me."

"You don't have any idea who's been doing it?" Hina knows the answer to that already: if Yoko know who was trying to frame him he'd take care of it on his own.

"I've got a couple of ideas, but you know. I have a few enemies." This is an understatement. "I'm hoping you can help me narrow things down."

"And what," Hina says, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair, "makes you think I'm going to help you?"

"Same reason you help anyone else," Yoko reaches for his wallet, "because I'll pay."

***

“This might help us out,” Yoko says, getting up to fish through his coat pockets, “I found this in my apartment.”

He holds up a small, circular piece of plastic, some frayed wires sticking out of it.

“It was attached to my phone,” he says. “When I figured out what was going on I got a little paranoid and turned the whole place over.” He hands it to Hina.

“I’ve seen bugs like this before,” Hina says, turning it over to check for identifying marks. He’s used bugs on a few cases, mostly for small things, catching cheating husbands and the like.

“It makes sense,” Yoko says thoughtfully. “There’s no one else who knows all the things that I know; that’s why they’re so sure it was me.”

“Would any of your enemies have had access to your place recently?” Hina asks, standing up to get his coat.

“I have parties sometimes,” Yoko says, “a poker game every once in a while.”

“You invite your enemies to parties?” Hina raises an eyebrow.

“It’s complicated,” Yoko shrugs. “You know the saying; keep your enemies close.”

“Anyway,” Hina says, “it’ll probably help narrow things down if you can make a list of names.” He hands Yoko a pad of paper and a pencil.

***

“I know a guy we can get some good information from,” Hina says, not looking up from the cigarette he’s rolling on the empty surface of his desk. Yoko’s made himself comfortable since coming into the office, his jacket draped over the back of a chair, sleeves rolled up to bare his forearms.

“I thought I was your information guy,” Yoko says, mock-pouting.

“You never give me anything good.”

“That’s because I’m not a snitch,” Yoko grins. “Anyway, I think we should go to my guy first. He’s definitely better.”

“Doubt it,” Hina licks the paper, twists the cigarette closed. “Listen, I know my guy _really well_.”

“You know me really well, and I never give you anything.” Yoko takes the lit cigarette from Hina’s fingers before he can inhale.

Hina smacks Yoko on the head, taking the cigarette back. “Not like you. We have a different kind of relationship.” He quirks his eyebrow.

“Oh, I get it,” Yoko waggles his eyebrows back at Hina, “You think you’re the only guy in town who sleeps with his informants, don’t you?”

Hina rolls his eyes. “Either way, my guy is better.”

“Is not.”

“Alright, fine, let’s settle this the old-fashioned way, then.”

Yoko laughs. “Rock paper scissors it is.”

***

"Wait a minute," Yoko says as Hina's leading the way through a labyrinth of increasingly dark hallways, "this is where your guy is?"

"Yeah," Hina says, reaching out to knock on the door.

"This is where _my_ guy is."

There's no time for them to react because at that moment the door swings open, revealing a smiling face.

"Murakami-kun!" Maru says happily. "I see you've brought your friend Yokoyama-kun."

Hina looks at Yoko, who's looking at Maru with a confused expression. He can see the wheels turning in Yoko's mind.

"Wait...this means..." Yoko is looking increasingly distraught, and Hina immediately catches on.

"We both..."

As they stand there in horrified silence, contemplating the fact that they've indirectly slept together, Maru smiles and leads them in with a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Now," he says, acting as though nothing weird is going on, "what can I help you two with?"

***

"Did you ever mention me to him?" Yoko asks as soon as they're out of earshot of Maru's door.

"No," Hina says. "Did you ever mention me?"

"Never." Yoko stuffs his hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat and they walk on for a while in silence.

Hina's been going to Maru for information for a while, and he's always thought it was weird how much he always knew, considering there never seemed to be a direct connection between him and the people and events he knew so well, but never before has Hina felt it so intensely.

"How long have you known him?" Yoko asks, breaking the silence.

"It's been a few years now," Hina says. "We met at a bar where I was shooting pool. I thought he was just a regular guy for a while, until I brought up one of my cases and he gave me a tip that pretty much led me straight to the answer." He looks over at Yoko. "How about you?"

"Sort of the same deal," Yoko says. "He was sitting next to me at a poker game and bought a round of drinks when he won, and we got to talking..." He trails off, eyes flicking over at Hina and then back to the floor. Hina doesn’t press him further, the topic’s awkward enough as it is.

It's raining as they leave the building, gray sky seemingly sucking the color out of everything around them. Hina tugs down the brim of his fedora and turns the corner to find the car.

***

"Listen," Yoko's saying as they drive, "I've met this guy a few times before, and he can be kind of...how do I say it nicely?"

"Dangerous?" Hina's heard stories about the man Maru told them they should go see, but he's never been directly caught up in something Hina was investigating before.

"I was going to say psychotic, but that works." Yoko tugs on his collar. "Anyway, just try not to piss him off if you can help it."

"You think I can't handle myself around your big shot criminal friends?" He laughs.

"Oh come on," Yoko says, "you're pretty much the least tactful person I know."

"Whatever," Hina says, turning the wheel to take them down a sidestreet near the water. "I'm just honest."

***

"I knew I should have just gone in without you," Yoko says, spitting out blood. His lip is bleeding and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"It's pretty clear which one of us pissed him off here," Hina says. He digs through his pockets, eventually finding a handkerchief and handing it to Yoko. "And anyway, while he was hitting you I had time to check out the papers on his desk. I think we've got a good lead."

"I need to clean up first." He's holding Hina's handkerchief to his mouth, blood blooming dark on the white cloth.

"Yeah, we'll get you some ice too."

"That ice had better be floating in a big glass of whiskey," Yoko grumbles.

***

Yoko’s sitting on the couch in Hina’s office, alternately holding a bag of ice to his lip and sipping at the glass in his other hand.

“How’s it feel?” Hina asks after a while, when he notices the ice has mostly melted.

Yoko shrugs, setting the bag aside. He finishes off his glass, getting up to pour himself more.

“I saw an address on an envelope on his desk,” Hina says. He picks up a phone book, flipping through it until he finds the name he’d seen. “It’s an electronics store.” He holds the book out to Yoko.

He looks at it, eyebrows knitting together. “I’ve dealt with this guy once before,” he says. “There’s no way he’ll tell us anything.”

“Do a lot of people hire him?”

“No, mostly just the guys I work for, and even among them I had a hard time getting this guy’s name when I needed it. Most people know about him, but if you don’t deal with him there’s no reason to know his name.”

“Hm,” Hina muses, “do you know all the people who would know him?”

“Of course,” Yoko scoffs, “knowing things is my business.”

They sit in the office, Yoko bent over a legal pad making a list of everyone who would have access to the bug as Hina rolls a cigarette.

“So,” he says, “I’ve been wondering this for a while, but what is the difference between what you do and being a snitch, anyway?”

Yoko looks briefly affronted, then laughs. “It’s simple,” he says. “I sell information, I don’t just give it away. And cops can’t pay my prices.

“Hina laughs. “I guess you always did have that entrepreneurial spirit.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way to the people I work for, though. It’s more about trust, I guess, them trusting that I’m not going to sell them out, me trusting that they’ll keep the people I sell out from killing me in my sleep.” Yoko pauses, suddenly serious. “That’s why this is such a big deal, you know? With other guys it’s just a stupid rumor, but for me...something like this could ruin everything.”

Hina nods, leans over the desk to hand Yoko the cigarette. “We’ll figure it out,” he says.

“If we don’t, I don’t have to pay, right?” Yoko grins.

Hina throws his lighter at him.

A few minutes pass in relative silence, save the crinkle of paper and the light scratching of pencil.

“Okay,” Yoko says, leaning back. “I’m pretty sure this is everyone.”

Hina glances over. The list is at least thirty names long, definitely more than he’d been hoping for.

“That many, huh?”

Yoko shrugs. “I had to include the errand boys and accountants. They always know a lot more than you expect.”

“Alright,” Hina says, “we can work with this.”

***

They’ve been cross-checking names with all of Yoko’s lists (“That many people have threatened to kill you?” Hina asked, holding up a piece of paper with a long list of names. Yoko just shrugged.) against the lists of people who’ve been in his house, along with people who had access to the bugs, for what seems like hours, and they haven’t gotten very far.

“Maybe I’ll call Maru,” Hina says, stubbing out his cigarette in the nearly full ashtray. He really needs to hire a maid.

“Maru?” Yoko sits up. The pencil he’s holding has bite marks on it, little indentations near the eraser. “I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

Yoko bites his lip. “Other than you, Maru’s pretty much the only guy I can trust right now. I don’t really want to get him too involved, if I can help it. Things could get dangerous.”

“But you have no problems with putting me in danger, huh?”

Yoko laughs.

“Anyway,” Hina continues, “Maru knows the risks.”

“I know that,” Yoko says. “Why do you think he gave us so little information the first time around?”

“Maybe it’s not that he was protecting himself,” Hina says, struck by an idea. “Maybe there really isn’t very much out there.”

“Hey,” Yoko says, “I’m supposed to be the pessimistic one here!”

“No,” Hina says, “I mean this could be a clue. Up until now we’ve been treating this like a conspiracy, something a few people were involved in, or at least knew about, but what if it’s simpler than that? It might just be one person, someone who’s not even that high up.”

Yoko pinches the bridge of his nose. “That still doesn’t really help us out much, does it?”

“Maybe it does,” Hina says. “Hand me that list.”

***

“Let’s go over the plan one more time,” Hina says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “You go in first, and get the guy away from the counter so I can go back there and take the ledger.” He pauses. “Alright?”

“I’m more worried about your end, personally,” Yoko says, a smirk on his lips. “What if your conscience gets the best of you and you just can’t bear to steal it?”

Hina knows Yoko’s joking, but it’s fun to play along.

“Please,” he says, laughing, “I break into people’s houses all the time on the job. What do you think I am, a coward?”

“Nah,” Yoko laughs, “you’re just a gorilla with an overly developed sense of justice.”

“Remind me again why I’m helping you?”

“Because you cherish our friendship,” Yoko giggles, “and I’ve got the money.”

“Oh, right,” Hina says. “Did I mention I charge double for clients who are pains in the ass?”

Hina parks the car around the corner from the shop. Yoko goes first, Hina planning to follow after two minutes. He watches Yoko walk away, hands in his pockets. Hina’s confident their plan will work, so long as the ledger isn’t locked up, or kept in a back room somewhere. He checks his watch, the second hand ticking by, until he steps out of the car.

When Hina slips into the shop, Yoko’s got the man showing him something against the wall opposite the counter. The door creaks and they both glance at Hina when he walks in, so he turns to one of the shelves, pretending to examine a pair of wire cutters.

As he makes his way to the counter he listens to their conversation, Yoko asking endless questions again wattage and building code compliance. If Hina didn’t know any better, he would have thought Yoko actually knew a thing or two about electronics. As it is, he’s just impressed at his ability to bullshit.

The counter’s tucked into a corner, rows of shelves standing between it and the area where Yoko’s led the clerk. Hina steps behind it. It’s littered with books and notebooks, hand-drawn schematics and wires everywhere, but the ledger is easy to find. It’s a worn-looking leather-bound notebook, just like Yoko had described. Hina picks it up, flips through to make sure it’s the right book, and tucks it under his coat. He wanders down a row of shelves before he leaves, trying to look like he was just aimlessly browsing, and goes to wait in the car.

About five minutes later, Yoko steps around the corner. Hina starts the car as soon as he sees him.

***

“Alright,” Hina says, handing Yoko the ledger, “now we just need to find anyone who bought this kind of bug recently and compare it to your lists.”

Yoko sits down on the sofa, flipping open the ledger. Each page is covered in cramped, tiny handwriting.

“Whiskey,” Yoko says, but Hina’s already started pouring.

***

It turns out that the bug is a popular model, and a good number of Yoko’s associates are in the ledger. They’d switched after half an hour, Hina reading out names and Yoko giving a yes or no.

“Okay,” Hina says, turning the page, “we’ve gone back six months now. You think it could be farther back than that?”

Yoko shrugs. “For all I know they could have been gathering it for years.” He’s leaning his head back on the couch, sleeves rolled up, a cigarette dangling between his fingertips.

Hina sighs. “Let’s just start with what we’ve got now, alright?”

Yoko shrugs again, exhaling a plume of smoke.

Hina gets up, stretching. His shoulders are stiff from bending over the ledger.

“What are you going to do once we figure it out?” he asks, handing Yoko the list.

“I don’t know,” Yoko says, “I guess it depends on who it is, whether he’ll confess if I can get to him. If I don’t have enough evidence no one will believe me.” He rubs a hand across his forehead. “And if it’s someone high up enough, there’s no point even trying.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” Hina says, though he’s been telling Yoko that for years and it still hasn’t sunk in. “Start looking at the lists, okay?” Hina takes his had and coat from the rack.

“Going out?” Yoko says.

“You’ve drank all my whiskey,” Hina says, pointing to the empty bottle on his desk.

“Put it on my tab,” Yoko laughs.

***

It's getting dark by the time Hina comes back about half an hour later, the setting sun casting a long shadow in front of him as he climbs the building's front steps.

Yoko's still on the couch where Hina left him, surrounded by papers, all of his various lists spread out around him.

"I think I might know who it is," Yoko says. There's a glint in his eye, a bit of a smile on his lips, so Hina assumes it's not someone too powerful. He allows himself an inward sigh of relief.

"Great." He hangs up his hat and coat before crossing the room to peer over Yoko's shoulder at the lists. There's one name emphatically circled on the legal pad: Yajima Takuto. “So, what's his deal? Why do you think it's him?"

"He's pretty low-level," Yoko says, "I don't know exactly what he does, but it's not too important." He grabs the brown paper bag Hina's holding, pulls out the whiskey and unscrews the cap.

"Use a glass," Hina says, snatching the bottle back just before Yoko touches it to his lips.

Yoko rolls his eyes. "Anyway," he continues, taking his empty glass from the table and holding it out expectantly, "he’s never really liked me, even when we first met.” When Hina doesn’t move to pour, Yoko takes the bottle and fills the glass himself. He takes a sip. “And then I slept with his girlfriend, so that didn’t help things much.” Hina takes the bottle back, rolling his eyes. “I’d always thought he was harmless, though.”

"So," Hina says, crossing to the desk to fill his own glass, "what now?"

"We're going on a field trip," Yoko says decisively. He drains his glass. "He lives pretty close."

"And then?" Hina's a little skeptical, worried that Yoko hasn't really thought this through, too concerned with the immediate possibility of revenge to have decided how exactly he'll enact it.

"I tell him I've figured it out, you wave your gun at him a little, then I take him in and get my name cleared." He smiles.

"What if he doesn't admit it?"

"Then you wave your gun at him a lot. Maybe shoot him with it."

Hina opens his mouth to speak, but Yoko raises a hand.

"Right, right, _hit_ him with it. I don't care what you do as long as a little violence goes on."

Hina sighs. Trying to get Yoko to slow down and think when he's this determined would be a waste of time and effort. He lifts his glass, tilting his head back as he pours the rest of the whiskey into his mouth. He tries to remind himself that if this were a regular client, he wouldn't care about the feasibility of their plan, as long as he got paid in the end. If this were a regular client, though, his job would be done by now and he'd be heading to the bar.

"I'm charging you extra for this," he mumbles, pulling on his coat.

"Yeah, yeah," Yoko says, dismissive.

***

It's already dark when they leave, the streetlight outside Hina's building lighting a glowing circle on the sidewalk. Yoko's still smiling, his cheeks flushed from the whiskey and the sudden chill of the night air.

"Why don't you have your own car?" Hina asks as he settles himself behind the wheel.

"I like having people drive me around," Yoko laughs.

***

Yajima's apartment is a short drive away. It's in a big, brick building, the kind with hundreds of small, identical apartments, all with the same leaky faucets and ugly wallpaper. Hina parks down the block and they walk in, Yoko nodding to the doorman.

"You know him?" Hina asks.

"No," Yoko says, "just pretending I'm supposed to be here."

Yajima lives on the eighth floor. They walk through a hallway full of identical doors until they reach one with the brass numbers 836 nailed to it.

"Here we are," Yoko says. A smile plays at his lips as he knocks on the door.

They wait almost a minute before Yoko knocks again, knuckles rapping against the wood. Hina presses an ear to the door.

"I don't hear anything," he says, after a moment.

The corners of Yoko's mouth twitch down.

"Fine," he says. He puts his hands in his pockets, rummaging for something, and comes out with a small safety pin. "We'll just let ourselves in." Yoko kneels down, opening the pin up. "Keep a look out."

Hina turns away, casting his eyes up and down the hallway. It's clear and quiet; no one in sight. He hears a click a moment later, and then Yoko's standing up and turning the doorknob.

"Come on in," he says with a smile, but as the door swings open, Yoko's face falls.

The place looks like it's been ransacked, or someone left in a hurry: dresser drawers hanging open, mostly empty with a few articles of clothing hanging off them, the desk covered in a mess of discarded papers.

Yoko's frozen in place, standing in the doorway.

"Fuck," he says. "No."

"He must have known you would figure it out," Hina says.

"If I don't have someone to turn in, all the proof we've got is useless." Yoko's face is blank, his eyes wide.

"The only way to make sure he really ruined you was to leave town." He puts a hand on Yoko's shoulder, but Yoko shrugs it off, slams the door shut. Hina can see the tightness in his jaw.

"Fuck," Yoko says again. He's turned away from Hina, facing the closed door.

Hina walks over to the desk, shuffles the papers around in hopes of seeing something that could help: a receipt, a note, any kind of proof, but there's nothing.

“There’s got to be something we can do,” he says, almost more to himself than to Yoko.

“Not if he’s gone,” Yoko says.

“Well,” Hina says, thinking, “hey. This guy has friends, right?” Yoko shrugs. “Look,” Hina crosses to Yoko, puts a hand on his shoulder and doesn’t let him move away, “I’m a detective, you’re...whatever it is you are. Between the two of us, there shouldn’t be anything we can’t find out. We’ll find him.”

Yoko purses his lips, nods. “You’re right,” he says, though he doesn’t sound quite convinced. “This’ll be easy.”

***

They're on the way back to the office, having gone through all the papers on Yajima’s desk to collect names and phone numbers, when Hina notices that the same car has been behind them for a bit longer than would seem normal.

"We're being followed," he says.

"What?" Yoko looks behind them, craning his neck for a better view. Hina smacks him.

"Don't _look,_ idiot! We don't want to give away that we've spotted them."

"What are we going to do, then?"

"Lose them." Hina makes a few turns, the car staying behind them the whole way, and then pulls into the parking lot of a bar.

"Don't we have to be, you know, moving in order to lose them?"

"Just shut up and follow me."

They go into the crowded bar, sitting on two stools near the end. As Yoko orders drinks, Hina watches the door out of the corner of his eye. After a few minutes the two men who were following them walk in.

"Don't look, but they're here." He speaks in a low voice, and Yoko leans in to hear him over the din. "There's a back way out. It's the third door on the right, past the bathroom. I'm going to get up now, you follow me in a minute."

Hina gets up, smiling to himself as he realizes he's sticking Yoko with the bill.

When he gets out to the parking lot, he checks out the car that had been following them, noting the license plate number.

“We must be on to something,” he says when Yoko comes out. “I need to some time to sleep on it, though. It might be best if we just split up now.”

“Okay,” Yoko says, “I’ll take a cab. See you tomorrow.”

***

Hina drives around for a while before heading back to the office. He was going to go home, but he thinks better there. Sometimes he thinks he shouldn’t even bother renting an apartment, should just install a shower in the office and get it over with, but he's not that far gone yet.

As he walks up to the door, fumbling through his pockets for the keys, he gets the feeling that something’s not right. His toe knocks against something metal, and he leans down to pick it up: a discarded pin, all bent out of shape. Someone picked his lock.

Eyes darting around him, Hina puts a hand on his gun. Hina’s had a gun for a while, learned how to shoot long ago, but he’s never actually shot anyone. Most situations where he brings the gun out, he’s found, can be resolved easily by hitting the other person with it. Nevertheless, he keeps it loaded. He clicks off the safety, raising the gun with one hand as he slowly turns the knob, easing the door open.

The room is dark, just a little streetlight filtering in through the closed blinds, but Hina sees a shadow near the couch.

“Who’s there?” He says. He points the gun in the shadow’s general direction.

“Shit,” says a familiar voice, “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Yoko?” Hina says, reaching over to turn on the light. Yoko’s sitting on Hina’s couch in his trousers and undershirt, most of his clothes discarded in a pile at his feet. His hair is mussed and he blinks in the sudden brightness. “What are you doing here?”

“I was almost sleeping, no thanks to you.”

“I’m still the one holding the gun,” Hina says, deadpan.

“You won’t shoot me.”

“There’s more than one way to hurt someone with a gun.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Yoko holds up a hand. “Really, though, I can’t exactly go back to my apartment. A lot of people know where I live.”

“You could have asked,” Hina says. He’s put his gun away and is lighting two cigarettes, holding one out to Yoko.

“And miss the thrill of you pointing a gun in my face?”

“It’s not even the first time that’s happened,” Hina laughs.

“It’s just as exciting every time.”

“Whiskey?” Hina asks, already pouring himself a glass.

“I get the feeling I’m not going to get much sleep tonight,” Yoko mumbles as he grabs the glass Hina’s poured.

"So," Yoko says, taking a sip, "those guys who were tailing us...I think I've seen them before."

"Who do they work for?" Hina asks.

"Anyone who'll pay," Yoko says. He pauses to take a drag, and his next words come out in a cloud of smoke. "They're hit men."

"Shit," Hina freezes.

"Yeah," Yoko says. "But what I can't figure out is why they've waited until now to put a hit on me." Yoko pauses, running a hand through his hair. "There's got to be something big going on, something they think I know about."

"Any idea what?"

"Not really," Yoko sighs. "I said before that this had started a few days ago, but the truth is my contacts have been slowly clamming up for the past month or so, it just wasn't so obvious at first." He takes a long drag, closing his eyes. "By now I know, well," he gestures to Hina with the hand holding the cigarette, "about as much as you do."

"Wait a minute," Hina says, memory jogged suddenly, "there was something in the mail I took, from the guy Maru sent us to..." He rummages through the piles of papers on his desk, looking for the innocuous-looking envelope he'd seen, the telephone bill with indentations on it that looked like someone had written something on top of it. "Here!" he says, holding it up triumphantly. He grabs a pencil and starts to rub the flat side of the point over the paper, the words slowly coming into view. "It's an address," he says. Yoko gets up, looking over his shoulder as it comes together. Below the address is a long string of numbers. "Maybe a phone number," Hina says, but there are too many numbers.

"I think it's a price," Yoko says. His eyes are wide.

"That's..."

"Definitely big enough for them to want me dead over it," Yoko finishes.

***

Hina wakes up in his desk chair, still fully dressed, when the light coming in through the blinds shines on his eyes. Yoko's still asleep, curled up on the couch. His lower lip is swollen from getting hit the day before, making it look like he's stuck in a perpetual pout. He stirs when Hina shoves at his shoulder, stretching and rubbing his eyes.

"Come on," Hina says, "we can head back to my place and clean up."

***

"Your clothes feel weird," Yoko complains, tugging at the collar of the shirt Hina gave him.

Hina tells him to shut up, but it's true. Even though they're about the same size and the fit itself is fine, there's something strange about seeing Yoko dressed in his clothes. Yoko's always liked a bit more flash, tailored suits in sleek black and pinstripes, where Hina tends toward simplicity (and cheapness, if he's honest).

"Think of it as a disguise," Hina says.

They're on their way to Yajima’s girlfriend's house, coming out of a shortcut down a sidestreet when Hina spots them: one of the two men who'd been following them yesterday, standing and talking with the man responsible for Yoko's split lip. Yoko must not see them, because he starts to take a step out of the alley, right into their line of sight. Hina grabs him by the collar, yanking him back.

"Careful," Yoko splutters, "You're going to choke me!"

"Look," Hina says, gesturing to the two men.

When Yoko sees them his eyes go wide.

“I think we should follow them,” Hina says. “Maybe if we can see who’s bankrolling them we can find out what’s going on.”

They follow the men to the train station, all the way onto a train, where they go into a private compartment. Yoko and Hina sit as close as they can to the door without looking suspicious and settle in to wait. Hina lights a cigarette, and the soothing tingle of smoke in his lungs combined with the gentle rocking of the train starts to lull him to sleep.

He's not sure how much time has passed when he feels Yoko's toe nudging his ankle.

"Wake up," he hisses. "Another guy just went in."

"Did you recognize him?" Hina asks. He reaches for the cigarette he'd been smoking before he drifted off, but it's burnt down, just a pile of ash in the ashtray.

"I don't know his name," Yoko says, "but I've seen him a few times. I think he's pretty high up."

Hina's eyes are fixed on the door of the compartment, and within a minute the door slides open, revealing a man he doesn't recognize. He turns to the right and his eyes meet Hina's.

"Shit." Yoko says, just as Hina's saying "Run."

They get up and bolt in the opposite direction, other passengers staring. Hina glances back to see the man saying something through the open compartment door before turning to follow them. They cross into a dining car, full of the sounds of people talking and the clatter of silverware, and Hina bumps into a waiter, who spills a cup of coffee into someone's lap. As the waiter stoops to help clean up, he blocks the aisle between them and their pursuer long enough for them to cross into the next car.

Hina slides into an empty seat, picking up a newspaper to cover his face, and Yoko grabs the hat and coat of a woman dozing across the aisle and pulls them on just in time for the man to open the door. He doesn't even glance at Yoko, but after looking around the car for a moment he turns his gaze to Hina. Hina's always prided himself on being a quick thinker, and the second he sees recognition dawn on the man's face, Hina punches him. The man reels backward with a shout, clutching his nose, and they get up and run, Yoko shedding the fur-trimmed coat behind him.

They run through a few more cars before they stop, panting, and Hina checks through the window behind them to see if the man's still there. It looks clear, and they sit down to wait for the next stop.

"We're definitely on to something," Hina says.

Yoko nods, still catching his breath, and Hina notices he's still wearing the woman's hat, black with flowers and a veil hanging down over his forehead. Hina points at it, laughing, and Yoko turns red.

"It suits you," Hina manages between bursts of laughter.

***

They make it off the train safely, blending into the crowd and heading out to the street.

"I didn't have time to tell you this before," Yoko says as they walk, "but I listened at the door a little while you were asleep, and it sounds like whatever it is they're worried I'm going to ruin is happening tomorrow."

"Did you hear the details?" This could be just the kind of break they need to figure the whole thing out.

"I couldn't tell what's going on, but we were right to think that address was involved. It'll be there, the old warehouse down by the docks."

Hina nods. Whatever it is, it's got to be a big deal of some sort.

"There's something else," Yoko says after a moment. "I heard them mention Yajima."

"You think he might be there?"

"It's possible," Yoko says. "If he's heard they've got a hit out on me he might think he's safe."

"Well," Hina says thoughtfully, "we'll go there tomorrow, then. For now, how about we find something to eat?"

"Sounds good," Yoko says, "I'm starving."

They turn down an alley, talking about what they want to eat, and Yoko quite literally runs into a tall, burly man.

"Sorry about that," Yoko starts, but as he looks at the man's face Hina sees his eyes widen in alarm.

"Well, well, well," the man says. "Yokoyama Yuu. There's a price on your head, you know."

The man is flanked by two others, equally threatening.

"Really?" Yoko says, feigning calm. "What is it? I've always wondered how much I'm worth."

"Oh, I'm going to enjoy bringing you in," the man says, taking a step forward.

Hina steps up, looking the man straight in the eyes.

"You should reconsider that," he says.

"Who's this," sneers one of the other two, shorter and stout with a pinched-looking face, "your boyfriend?"

"I think you're the one who wants to reconsider," the tall man says, cracking his knuckles. "Hand him over and we won't hurt you."

Hina rolls his eyes, curls his fingers into a fist and punches him. He glances at Yoko, who hesitates for a split second before running, but the other two men follow him and he doesn't make it far. Hina's about to help him when the man he'd hit regains his bearings, landing a punch right on Hina's jaw.

Hina's head snaps sideways and he stumbles backward, the pain dulling his reflexes. Before he can react he's punched in the stomach. He can feel the air rushing out of him as he's propelled back against a wall. He allows himself to rest his weight against it for a second as he tries to catch his breath. His suit catches on the brick, making a scratching sound as he ducks out of the way of the next blow. He takes the upper hand now, lands a solid hit on the man's face, feeling hard bone against his knuckles.

The man stumbles backward, expression dazed, and Hina hits him again. This time he feels a crunch as the man's nose breaks. He doubles over, clutching his face with a muffled groan.

"Shit," Hina hears across the alley, "motherfucker bit me!"

He looks over the man's shoulder to see Yoko being held by the shorter man as the other one holds a bloody hand to his chest. He can only look for a second, keeping most of his attention focused on the man in front of him. There's blood leaking through is splayed fingers as he stands up, chest heaving.

Hina pulls out his gun.

"Don't make me use this," he says. The man freezes.

He looks over at the other two, who see the gun and stiffen. The shorter man lets go of Yoko, who slumps against a nearby wall.

"Okay, man," the tall man says, his voice sounding congested, "no need for that." He's backing away as he talks, eyes darting from Hina's face to the barrel of the gun. "We'll just be going now."

Hina doesn't say anything, doesn't move. The men break into a run.

Once the alley's clear, Hina holsters his gun and goes to Yoko, who's a bloody mess.

"You saved me," he says, his tone strange.

"Of course I did," Hina says. He slips his arm around Yoko's waist, his warm weight pressing against Hina's side, and pulls him to his feet.

***

They check in to a nearby motel, a cheap, broken-down little place.

"Rufus T. Barleysheath," Yoko says when the desk clerk asks for a name. Hina tries to stifle a snort. The man behind the counter doesn't react, though, clearly used to people giving him fake names. He takes their money and hands them a key, giving a disinterested wave in the general direction of their room.

As soon as they're through the door, Yoko's already shedding his overcoat and jacket, collapsing heavily on the bed. There's a bruise already forming around his left eye, dried blood at the corner of his mouth. He moves tentatively, like every part of his body hurts.

"Every part of my body hurts," he says, more than a little whiny.

"You look horrible." Hina reaches into his pocket, feeling the smooth metal surface of his flask, which he tosses to Yoko. It lands next to him on the bed with a sloshy thump. He takes off his coat, hanging it on the rack in the corner, and heads into the bathroom.

Hina leans over the sink, examining his face in the mirror. He looks a little worse for wear, but not as bad as Yoko. He presses two fingers to his jaw and sucks in a breath at the flare of pain that results. He turns on the tap, pulling a washcloth from the towel rack. He wets it and wrings it out so it's damp and cool.

When he comes out of the bathroom Yoko's got the flask in his hand. He's taken off his tie, untucked his shirt and opened the top few buttons. Hina takes the flask and hands him the washcloth.

He sits down in an uncomfortable chair, facing the bed. The flask is considerably lighter, almost half-empty by Hina's estimation. He takes a sip of whiskey as he watches Yoko raise the washcloth to his face. He winces at first, a stiffening in his shoulders and a sharp intake of breath, but then he relaxes, sighing heavily.

"Better?" Hina asks.

"Yeah." Yoko's voice is muffled. "Thanks for the whiskey." He lowers the towel, dampness shining on his face. "I'm gonna clean up a little more," he says, standing up. He finishes unbuttoning his shirt, leaving it on top of his jacket. He tugs at the neck of his undershirt, seeming to hesitate a moment before pulling that off, too.

As Yoko heads into the bathroom his movements already seem a bit more fluid, less pained.

Hina listens to the sound of the water running and tries to collect his thoughts. He shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the back of the chair. He loosens his tie a little, unbuttoning his sleeves to roll them up to his elbows. Everything's happened so fast in this case, he hasn't had much chance to think it all over. The meeting at the warehouse tomorrow should definitely a big break, though. He's thinking through how they'll get there, since Hina's car is across town after they took the train, when Yoko comes out of the bathroom. His hair’s a little damp, the ends sticking together and dripping down onto the towel that’s draped over his bare shoulders.

“Did you just put your whole head under the tap?” Hina asks, amused.

“It felt good,” Yoko says. He leans down and takes the flask from Hina’s hand. He’d been gripping it loosely, had almost forgotten it was there. As he leans over, Yoko’s hair drips onto Hina’s arm.

“Watch it,” he says, and Yoko tosses the towel at him before settling onto the bed again.

“So,” Yoko says. He takes a swig from the flask.

“So,” Hina echoes. The room’s small enough, the chair close enough to the bed that he can lean forward, reach out and take the flask back. “You’re going to drink all my whiskey,” he says, shaking the flask to see how much is left.

“I deserve it,” Yoko says, “I was in a fight.”

“Yeah,” Hina deadpans, “and the big guy and I were just ballroom dancing.”

“I’m the one who’s got a black eye messing up my pretty face.” Yoko bats his eyelashes.

“It gives you character,” Hina laughs. He can feel the whiskey starting to hit him, a warmth spreading through his body and making him more receptive to Yoko’s bad jokes.

“This is kind of nice, actually,” Yoko says. He’s staring at a spot on the floor, somewhere to the right of Hina’s foot. “We haven’t been able to hang out like this in a while.”

The whiskey must be getting to Yoko, too. He always gets a little maudlin and nostalgic when he’s drunk.

“Hey,” Hina says, “you’re the one who chose the whole ‘life of crime’ thing, here. I’m not to blame.”

Yoko looks hurt, suddenly, which isn’t something that’s happened any of the hundred other times they’ve had this argument.

“It’s not--” he pauses, running a hand through his hair, “I didn’t have a lot of other options.”

“It’s okay,” Hina says, leaning back in his chair, “I get it.”

“You really don’t,” Yoko mumbles. He glances up, meets Hina’s eyes, then looks away again.

“You’re being weird,” Hina says.

Yoko stiffens. “Sorry, it’s just. I guess I’m still a little shaken up from earlier.” He shrugs, his lips curving into a sheepish smile.

Hina nods. “I know what you mean,” he says. Hina always feels a little worked up after a fight, leftover adrenaline buzzing through him. “We just need to get some rest,” he says, standing up.

“Yeah,” Yoko says. He stands up too, and for a moment they’re frozen in place. Yoko’s gaze darts from Hina’s eyes down to his mouth. He licks his lips. They stand there silently, neither of them moving, sudden tension filling the space between them, until Yoko steps closer.

Hina can feel Yoko’s breath on his lips, and he opens his mouth to say something, but that’s when Yoko leans in, pressing his lips to Hina’s. The kiss only lasts a moment, but when Yoko pulls back Hina realizes he’s been holding his breath. He breathes out, in, and then Yoko’s hand is on the brim of Hina’s hat, pushing it back and off.

Yoko’s eyes are wide, the pupils big and dark. He opens his mouth, but this time Hina’s the one to interrupt, putting his hands on either side of Yoko’s face and kissing him. Yoko stiffens for a second before he kisses back. Hina can taste a faint metallic tinge on Yoko’s lips, mixed with the strong flavor of whiskey. As they kiss, Yoko pulls on his tie, clumsily loosening it. He’s got it nearly off when Hina pulls away, taking a step back to sit down in the chair.

Yoko follows, planting himself in Hina’s lap. Hina puts his hands on Yoko’s hips, palming the warm skin just above the waistband of his pants. Yoko has to bend a bit to kiss him, and Hina tilts his head back to make it easier.

They kiss almost lazily, Yoko working on Hina’s shirt buttons, as Hina moves his hands from Yoko’s waist to grip his thighs. He slides a hand up and his fingers graze Yoko’s erection, making him gasp and pull away a little, looking started. Hina freezes with his hand still resting over Yoko’s cock. Yoko’s blinking like he’s just woken up, his hair mussed and his lips red and wet. He looks down, between them.

“We shouldn’t,” he says abruptly, then bites his lip. “I mean.”

“You don’t want to?” Hina says. He can feel Yoko’s cock hard under his fingertips so he’s pretty sure he knows the answer to that, but he feels like he should ask anyway.

Yoko grimaces. “No, I.” He pauses, takes a few breaths. “I really do, just. Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Hina says, “yeah, I’m sure.”

He presses his hand down, just a little, and Yoko makes a choked-off sound, his head tilting back.

“Okay?” Hina says.

“Okay,” Yoko says breathlessly.

The way Yoko’s leaning back, away from him, makes it easy for Hina to unbuckle his belt. He can hear Yoko’s breathing over the clink of the metal, the rustling of fabric and the sound of his zipper. In their position he can’t take Yoko’s pants off, but he can pull them down a bit, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear and tugging. Yoko moves a little, tilting his hips to make it easier. He puts a hand on Hina’s shoulder to steady himself and Hina looks up.

Their eyes meet for a second before Yoko looks away. He’s flushed, pink in the cheeks and down his chest, and his breath hitches when Hina’s fingers wrap around his cock. Hina pulls his hand away, licks his palm, and tries again, a slow stroke from base to tip. Yoko lurches forward, his hand on Hina’s shoulder tightening, and kisses him.

Hina curls his free hand around the back of Yoko's neck, twining his fingers through his hair. Yoko pushes open Hina's unbuttoned shirt. They kiss until Yoko pulls back to catch his breath. He's rocking his hips into Hina's hand, the motion rubbing against Hina's cock, still untouched in his trousers. Hina nudges Yoko back, off his lap.

When he stands up, his pants sink lower, baring the pale skin of his thighs. Hina stands up, shedding his shirt in the process. He has a hand on his belt buckle when Yoko steps toward him, putting a hand in Hina's hair to turn his head so he can kiss his neck. As Hina steps out of his pants, Yoko pulls back. He looks into Hina's eyes for a second, looks down, then back up, giving Hina a weird half-smile.

Hina knows how he wants this to go, but he's not quite sure what ideas Yoko has about it. One thing he is sure of, though, is that Yoko's not going to be forthcoming about what he wants. He takes a step toward Yoko, crowding him against the bed. Yoko stumbles back a little and ends up sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at Hina's navel. Hina runs a hand through Yoko's hair, giving an experimental tug, and Yoko's eyes flutter shut for a moment.

He takes another step forward so he's standing between Yoko's spread legs, and Yoko moves backward so Hina can kneel on the bed. He's propped up on his elbows, now, legs splayed apart, his cock resting on his stomach.

Hina leans in, his hands planted on either side of Yoko’s hips, and kisses him. Yoko tilts his head, sucks on Hina’s lower lip, and Hina rocks against him, his cock pressed against Yoko’s hip.

“You’re sure,” he says when he pulls away, the intonation more statement than question. Despite his earlier apprehension, Yoko doesn’t hesitate in answering.

“Yeah,” he says, voice breathless. “Definitely.”

Hina looks over at the little table next to the bed, remembering how the motel’s sign had listed “amenities” right under “hourly rates,” and leans over to pull the drawer open. There’s a small pile of condoms, a bottle of lube.

“How did you...” Yoko says, looking almost suspicious.

“I had a hunch,” Hina laughs.

“Hm,” Yoko answers. He shifts a little, moving closer to the pillows.

Hina uncaps the lube, pouring a little into his palm. He takes hold of Yoko’s cock first, making him sigh, his head tilting back. Yoko’s relaxed, his eyes closed, and he bareley flinches when Hina pushes a finger inside of him. Hina picks up a steady rhythm, jerking Yoko’s cock while he fucks him with one finger, then two.

When he stops to roll on the condom, Yoko’s eyes flutter open. He’s lying back now, no longer up on his elbows, and he pulls his knees up. Hina puts his hand on Yoko’s left thigh, nudging his knees up a little farther, and pushes into him.

Yoko’s eyes close as his mouth opens on a shuddering intake of breath. Hina stops once he’s all the way in, watching Yoko’s face. He licks his lips, takes a breath before opening his eyes again, shifting his legs up and apart, letting Hina go deeper.

Hina braces a hand on Yoko’s leg while he fucks him, wrapping the other around his cock. Yoko moans, his back arching. His mouth is open, lips parted, and Hina leans in, sucking on his swollen lower lip. He pulls away after a moment, slowing down a little as he adjusts their position, palming Yoko’s thigh as he pushes his leg up again.

It only changes the angle a little, but it’s enough to draw a high-pitched sound from Yoko when Hina starts again, fucking him harder. He can feel Yoko tensing up under him before he comes, gripping Hina’s bicep. He goes almost totally limp afterward, pliant and flushed as Hina fucks him. He’s close himself, and he closes his eyes when he comes, his head bent forward.

Yoko stretches as Hina pulls out, getting up to throw the condom away. He picks up the towel Yoko had earlier and tosses it to him so he can clean up. There’s a bruise on one of his ribs, big and painful-looking, and when Yoko presses his fingers against it experimentally he immediately pulls his hand away, grimacing.

“I’m going to be so sore tomorrow,” he whines.

“Next time you can be on top,” Hina says with a grin. As he shuts the bathroom door he can hear Yoko shouting about how that’s not what he meant, and Hina sure must have a high opinion of himself, before someone in the next room bangs on the wall to shut him up.

***

Hina wakes up to the early morning light filtering in through the room's cheap curtains. He reaches over to the nightstand to check his watch, which reads 7:48. He stretches, turns over, and realizes the bed is empty. The bathroom door is wide open, Yoko nowhere to be seen. Hina rubs his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose. There was a part of him that had almost expected this, Yoko getting spooked and running off, especially with the way he'd seemed a little unsure at first, but he can't say it doesn't sting a little. Yoko probably just needs some time alone to get whatever it is out of his system.

Hina's sitting up in bed, ready to take a shower and leave, when the door creaks open. Light floods in, making Hina blink, silhouetting Yoko dramatically for a moment before he lets it fall shut behind him. He looks a little surprised to see Hina awake.

"I got coffee," he says, holding up the two paper cups in his hands.

"Thanks," Hina says, then after a pause, "You woke up early."

"Couldn't sleep," Yoko shrugs. Judging from the bags under his eyes, this is not a lie. "I'm gonna take a shower," he says, setting down the coffee. "I know a good driver who can take us to the warehouse," he starts to unbutton his shirt as he talks. "You can't trust a lot of the cabbies around here, but this guy's solid. I gave him a call while I was out, so he'll be here in about an hour."

***

The driver arrives at nine, and the ride to the warehouse is uneventful, Yoko making small talk with the man about mutual friends Hina doesn't know. He drops them off a few blocks from the warehouse, at the end of a small, run-down residential area.

The street is mostly empty, save for the occasional car passing through. Each time one goes by, Yoko ducks his head down, turning away. He's got his hands stuffed in the pockets of his overcoat, his shoulders pulled up.

"Stop acting so suspicious," Hina says.

"Sorry," Yoko mumbles. He stands up straighter but keeps his hands in his pockets.

They turn a corner and the warehouse appears in the distance, looming and dark even in the daylight. Most of the windows are boarded up, streaks of spray paint cover the walls.

"That's the one, right?" Hina says, glancing at Yoko.

"Yeah." Yoko pulls a hand from his pocket to run it through his hair. "How are we going to get in?"

"I'm not sure yet," Hina says. "It looks like we've beat them here, though, so we've got a little time."

There's one door in the back, with a suspiciously new-looking knob on it, which is, of course, locked.

"That'll be the main entrance, anyway," Hina says. "We probably don't want to be going in that way."

They walk around the perimeter of the building, surveying the boarded-up windows and doors, the rusted-out loading bays, until Hina spots a window that's only half-boarded.

"Do you think we can fit through there?" Yoko asks, eyebrows raised.

"Sure," Hina says. He rams his elbow into the glass, which cracks easily. "Usually that's harder to do," he mumbles as he tries to clear the glass away so they won't get cut.

Yoko looks from Hina to the shards of glass everywhere, then back. "You go first."

Hina climbs in, ducking under the boards and dropping easily to the floor. Yoko has a bit more trouble, but eventually he tumbles through, cursing, with a gash on his hand. Hina takes out his handkerchief, holding Yoko's hand palm-up and wrapping the cloth around it.

They climb a nearby staircase to the network of scaffolding that crisscrosses the ceiling of the warehouse. There’s a dark corner on one wall, near a grimy but usable window.

“You keep watch that way,” Hina says, pointing to the window. “I’ll watch the door.”

"Do you think they're going to be here?" Yoko whispers, after nearly half an hour of silence.

"Of course," Hina says. "You heard them talking about it."

Yoko nods.

"I guess it's possible they knew you were listening in and just mentioned it to throw us off," Hina muses, "but if that were the case they'd have been waiting for us here, not the other way around." Hina pauses. “It’s possible Yajima isn’t going to show, though,” he says. “What do you want to do then?”

“Try and get out without being seen, I guess,” Yoko says.

“I really should stop trusting you to have a plan,” Hina grumbles. “Do you always just let luck do the work for you?”

Yoko shrugs. “Most of the time it works out.”

“Anyway,” Hina says, “from everything we’ve gathered so far the one thing that’s added up is whatever this meeting today is going to be.” He pauses. “I wish we knew what it was, though. It’s got to be something with a lot of people involved, maybe even cargo, or else they wouldn’t have chosen somewhere so big.”

He glances back at Yoko, who’s crouched in front of the window.

“I’ve been in here a few times before, checking out disappearances, deals gone wrong and stuff, though it’s never been your people involved.” Yoko raises an eyebrow, his eyes flicking back at Hina. He seems on edge, more jumpy than Hina would expect, even in this situation. “You okay?”

Yoko’s brow furrows. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“You just seem weird,” Hina says. Yoko’s seemed weird since the night before, from his reaction to Hina’s teasing to his disappearance in the morning. Something about it makes Hina suspicious, sets the wheels turning in his mind, and as the pieces fall together he starts to realize exactly what it is he’s walked into.

Hina suddenly feels like the floor has dropped out from under him. He looks straight at Yoko. "You...the coffee." He stands up. "The coffee was cold."

There's complete silence for a second, Yoko staring like a deer caught in the headlights, until Hina hears an unmistakable _click_ from behind him, feels the cool metal end of a gun barrel right between his shoulder blades. Yoko stands up, not saying a word.

"I should have figured it out sooner."

Yoko’s eyes flick away from Hina’s to someone behind him, and in an instant he changes. He looks calm, collected, in control.

“I told you I’d bring him right to you,” Yoko says. Someone grabs Hina’s hands, hanging limp at his sides, to tie them behind his back. “And I’ve got all the proof you need,” Yoko continues after a pause. He reaches into his pocket and produces the bug.

“He’d been spying on me,” Yoko says coolly, crossing past Hina to hand the bug off to someone behind him. “I should have seen coming,” he says. “Murakami’s always wanted to put me in my place, with that overdeveloped moral compass of his.”

Yoko steps back into view. Hina stares straight at him, refusing to look away, but Yoko avoids his gaze.

“And it would have worked,” he says, a smirk lifting the corners of his mouth, “if I hadn’t figured it out just in time.”

“Look,” comes a voice from behind him, “I definitely think this guy’s the one we want, I mean, he’s the reason my best friend’s in jail.”

“Yeah, he’s bad news,” says another voice.

“But,” the first man continues, “to let him keep hanging around you when you know exactly what he is...well that’s just plain _stupid_.”

Yoko’s expression falters a little.

“I’m just saying,” the man says, “I don’t know if we’ll be able to trust you so much anymore.” There’s a tug on Hina’s wrists. “Anyway, we’ve got what we needed. Let’s get out of here.”

 

***

Hina spits out blood. He's tied to a chair in a dim, dingy room. They'd taken him from the warehouse, thrown him in the trunk of a car to bring him here, wherever here was. He'd tried to pay attention to the turns, to determine where he was being taken, but they'd gone far, outside of the area Hina knew well, so he was basically lost. One of the thugs he and Yoko had fought with is there, along with several men Hina doesn't recognize, coming in and out of the room periodically.

His shoulders are starting to ache from the uncomfortable position, and his lip is bleeding, blood smeared across his chin and dripping down in little dots on his white shirt. The man they’d fought with had hit him as soon as he was tied down, muttering something about getting revenge for the day before.

“How much did you tell the cops?” he asks. Hina had tried explaining that he wasn’t the one they were looking for, but it was obvious they weren’t going to believe him.

Hina shrugs, bracing himself. The man backhands him hard, pain radiating outward from Hina’s cheekbone.

“This is useless,” he says, turning away.

“We don’t really need to get anything out of him,” one of the other men says, “we just have to keep him in case the cops show up. Gotta have leverage.”

Hina’s relieved to hear they’re intending to keep him alive for at least a while longer; it’ll give him enough time to work on an escape. Whoever had tied his hands to the chair wasn’t so good with knots, and Hina can feel that the bonds will give if he works on them enough. As he twists his wrists, trying to keep his movements small enough that they won’t notice and realize what he’s doing, he can’t help but think about Yoko.

Hina feels, suddenly, like he’s back in high school all over again, sitting at his desk and looking over at the empty seat next to him, where Yoko was supposed to be before he dropped out. He’d brushed it off when Yoko brought it up yesterday, but he really had been enjoying the past few days, spending time with Yoko without the weirdness that had grown between them through the years, and now it’s as though all of that is happening again. Part of him had known that it could only be temporary, that once he helped Yoko get his position back things would return to the way they were, though he’d never imagined this would be the outcome.

Maybe, Hina thinks, this is how it was always going to end. Yoko made his choice all those years ago, put the two of them on opposing sides. Maybe it was naive of him to expect anything else, to still see Yoko as the guy he'd grown up with, loud and funny and energetic with Hina but a little shy and withdrawn around other people. He hadn't even seen a flicker of that Yoko in the guy who'd sold him out. Hina's had more than a few chances to give Yoko up to the cops in the past, has burst into a room only to find him there, and instead of holding him he's told him to get out while he had the chance, because Hina doesn't want to be the one explaining to Yoko's mother why her son is in jail.

The ropes are starting to give, and thinking of his escape snaps Hina out of his thoughts. He thinks about hitting Yoko, of the satisfying feeling of knuckles on flesh. He thinks about pulling his gun on him, telling him that he's finally going to use it. He wouldn't, couldn't, but he's angry enough that he thinks he could convince Yoko he would.

The door opens as Hina's imagining pinning Yoko up against a wall, and it’s more than a little alarming to see Yoko standing there.

He's changed clothes since Hina was taken, back in his own tailored suit instead of Hina's plainer-looking one, and he's carrying a briefcase. He avoids Hina's gaze.

For a moment, Hina forgets he's tied up and tries to stand up. He yanks at the ropes around his wrists, every part of him practically screaming to grab Yoko, to shake him, to hit him, to make him meet his eyes.

"You lying piece of shit," Hina shouts. "Come back to see how your little plan played out?"

Yoko blinks, but doesn't look at him. "I need a minute with him," he says to the other man, who raises an eyebrow. “The boss sent me.”

The man shrugs. “He’s all yours,” he says, and shuts the door behind him.

The moment the door closes, Yoko crosses to Hina. He sets the briefcase down.

“Untie me so I can hit you,” Hina says.

“Look,” Yoko says, “I don’t have much time to explain, so can you save the hitting for later?”

“Fuck you.”

Yoko reaches into his pocket, pulls out a knife. He steps behind Hina, tugging at the ropes. “I didn’t sell you out,” he says, and Hina can hear the scratching sound of knife on rope. “Well, I mean, I sort of did, but not for the reasons you think.” Hina grits his teeth, reminds himself that once Yoko’s freed him he’ll be able to hit him. “Once we saw that Yajima had skipped town, I knew there was no way I’d ever be able to get back in with them, so I came up with another plan. The big deal that was going on, the one they thought I knew about, it really is going to happen today. When I saw how much money was involved, well...it all just fell into place.”

Hina glances at the briefcase.

“I needed a way to get close enough to take it, though, and that’s where you came in.”

“So,” Hina says, feeling the ropes gradually loosen, “you turned me in hoping you’d just luck out and happen to be able to get to this briefcase full of money?”

“I was completely in control of the situation,” Yoko says.

The ropes fall away, and Hina stands up. He raises his hand, and Yoko winces but doesn’t step back. The feeling of his palm hitting Yoko’s cheek does a lot to calm Hina down.

“I was going to split the money with you,” Yoko says, almost sheepish.

“I should just take all of it,” Hina says. He picks up his gun from where they’ve left it on the table, pulling on his coat. “Why didn’t you just tell me the plan?”

“Couldn’t risk it,” Yoko shrugs. “the whole thing could have fallen apart pretty easily.”

“Yeah,” Hina says, “which is why you shouldn’t have done it.”

“Do you have any idea how much money is in there?” Yoko says. “We can leave town, run away to Mexico or something.”

“I don’t know if I can switch from whiskey to tequila.” Hina sighs. “You realize you haven’t really given me any choice but to pick up and move, here?”

“Come on,” Yoko says. He tips his hat back, a genuine smile lighting up his face. “It’ll be fun. There’s nothing left for us here, really.”

“You mean you. There’s nothing left for _you_.”

“No,” Yoko says. “I mean us.”

There’s a pause, Yoko bending down to pick up the briefcase. He looks at Hina, his expression open, hopeful.

“Do you even speak Spanish?” Hina picks up his hat from the table.

“Cerveza?” Yoko grins.

Hina slaps him, his head spinning with relief and possibilities, and before he can think about it he’s grabbing Yoko by the collar and crushing their lips together.


End file.
